Author: Bret Adams

Peter Frampton, Foreigner, Alexis Korner, and John Mayall became classmates during the 39th Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony, held October 19 in Cleveland.

Frampton, who is battling the degenerative muscle disease inclusion body myositis, was inducted by The Who vocalist Roger Daltrey. Frampton performed “Baby (Somethin’s Happening)” before Keith Urban came out to join him for a rousing “Do You Feel Like We Do.”

“I really am a lucky guy to have had this amazing career, and it’s always been driven by my passion for guitar playing, and that is, as Roger said, that’s my comfy chair,” said Frampton during his induction speech. He also credited school friend David Bowie.

“In ’86, he asked me to play on his [Never Let Me Down] album, and then with him on the Glass Spider Tour. It was absolutely amazing. We never really spoke about it, but he saw how I had lost my credibility… I had no idea what a huge gift David was giving me. I went back on the road and started the journey that I’ve been on ever since.”

After his performance and induction speech, Vintage Guitar asked Frampton about the importance he placed on focusing his guitar skills in his music throughout all phases of his career.

“I think that because I’m a songwriter too, and I was writing songs inspired by Led Zeppelin and Joni Mitchell, I’ve always covered a broad sphere of different types of music,” he said. “So, if I wrote a song like ‘Baby, I Love Your Way,’ that had a keyboard solo on it because it was fitting, live. But, ‘Do You Feel Like We Do,’ obviously, is very guitar-based, and a lot of the heavier stuff is.

“I’ve concentrated on guitar ever since I first heard Hank Marvin of The Shadows – Cliff Richard’s guitar player – and my father brought me Django Reinhardt and Stéphane Grappelli to listen to. That’s what my parents listened to during the war. I’ve always been inspired by sound because Hank’s sound was always pure, and even if it was distorted it was still a pure sound – and Django Reinhardt’s technique. It’s always good to have someone to listen to that you know you will never be as good as, because hopefully you’ll make yourself better along the way. So, yes, I’ve always listened to players that are better than me.”

Foreigner was inducted by Sammy Hagar, though founder/lead guitarist Mick Jones was unable to attend due to the effects of Parkinson’s. The condition led to his retirement from touring a few years ago, and the current lineup performed with Hagar, Slash, and others. Jones’ daughter, Annabelle Dexter-Jones, spoke on his behalf.

After the ceremony, VG spoke with Jones via e-mail, discussing the role his guitar work played in Foreigner’s songs and recording.

“I think my playing had a distinctive sound,” he said. “I spent seven years in Paris, recording, playing with, and writing songs for Johnny Hallyday and Sylvie Vartan. That experience helped me as a songwriter. Having played with Spooky Tooth and Leslie West, I was immersed in different styles of music, which really helped me develop my own style. I was very much into playing melodically, seeking interesting riffs, chord progressions, and colorful guitar solos. I’ve always believed that you don’t have to play fast, but just play the right notes in the right place that sounds appealing to the ear. I think all of it contributed to the success of Foreigner.”

Jones wrote many Foreigner songs himself, while numerous others were collaborations with vocalist Lou Gramm, who cited their magical partnership during his induction speech.

“Right from the start, Mick and I hit it off in our first songwriting session,” he said. “The chemistry for many of our biggest hits was the Jones/Gramm collaboration.”

The late pioneering British bandleaders Korner and Mayall were inducted in the Musical Influence category. They were honored with short films covering their careers.

Rolling Stones guitarist Keith Richards praised Korner during the latter’s film.

“What he would do (to take a break when performing), he would invite anybody up to fill in the gap for 10 or 15 minutes. One night, he invited Mick (Jagger) and me, which is the first time we played with Charlie Watts. You see, this is why we’re connected, Alexis and the Stones. I stole half his band!” Richards said, laughing. “He was a bluesman, but he is the father of British rock and roll.”

In the Mayall film, Eric Clapton honored his former mentor’s decades-long position at the helm.

“I think the important thing about John is that he loved the role of being a sponsor,” said Clapton. “He could bring people into the band and help them to bloom.”

This article originally appeared in VG’s January 2025 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

Jesse Ed Davis was an unsung guitar hero – unless you were a legend like Eric Clapton, John Lennon, George Harrison, Bob Dylan, Rod Stewart, Conway Twitty, Taj Mahal, Jackson Browne, and countless others who played with him and revered his talent. The Oklahoma-born Davis became an L.A. session wizard who released three solo albums in the early 1970s. In ’88, he died of a heroin overdose at age 43.

Douglas K. Miller, a former touring musician and current professor of Native American history, has written an engrossing biography, Washita Love Child: The Rise of Indigenous Rock Star Jesse Ed Davis.

You say this biography takes a “cultural narrative” approach. What do you mean?
I feel like I’ve got to tell everybody, “Don’t skip the opening chapters.” I’ve been guilty of that: “Just get to the part where they’re making my favorite album and talking about the guitar they played!” I tried to explicitly say, “This is where Jesse comes from.” Of course, everybody comes from their family and their ancestry and their geographic place. But you cannot understand Jesse Ed Davis without understanding what his parents experienced.

Davis always seemed on the cusp of widespread fame.
Even at his highest point, when he was playing with George Harrison and John Lennon, he’s not a household name. The music intelligentsia knows who he is. Music fans probably know him from Taj Mahal records or some other affiliation. From the ’80s up to the present, or at least the last few years, it’s guitar aficionados who kept his legacy alive. If I talk to a guitar player, they know him as a Telecaster player.

With Jesse’s story, there are a few examples where he just misses the moment or he’s on the right path, then it falls apart. Often, it’s through no fault of his own, though occasionally it’s totally his fault. He joined the Faces for an arena and stadium tour early in summer ’75 and by December they’d broken up. That had nothing to do with him.

He wanted fame and success, but when he’d achieve a taste of it, he almost seemed embarrassed.
Later in his too-short life, he would say to friends that he was disappointed that he didn’t really get his due. And from what I’ve come to understand, not so much in an arrogant “I’m an incredible guitar player” way as much as just that he knew that he was good, he did a lot of work, and he did play with Bob Dylan, John Lennon, George Harrison, and Leon Russell. He might have attributed that to his own failings or his own illness with drug addiction.

He felt that he had achieved something that hadn’t quite been appreciated. He wasn’t a real showman – he didn’t carry on with long, self-indulgent solos. He didn’t use a lot of effects. He really played for the song. I think he understood that was what people wanted from him.

He was a sensitive player and a deeply sensitive person. There’s also modesty. And then there’s his Native American culture and upbringing. Among a lot of Native people, being loud and boisterous is not a virtue. Talking about yourself at length and flashing your talent isn’t a virtue. He experienced a lot of racism and resentment growing up that probably had a deep effect on his psyche. There were probably times he knew he was a great talent and was succeeding, but there were voices in his head saying, “You don’t belong here.”

Davis’ friends and family – even ex-girlfriends and ex-wives – still loved him and looked after him even when his addiction caused bad behavior.
I’ve researched Jesse for five years. I wrote a big book about him. The first draft was almost 600 pages. I have an unhealthy amount of knowledge about Jesse Ed Davis. People I interviewed, from family to Taj Mahal and Jackson Browne, said I was teaching them. They were more interviewing me.

There was something about him that was really magnetic, really powerful. People would never give up on him, no matter how bad he burned them. There had to be something special about this person, just to be in his presence, to play music with him, to share a meal, tell jokes, walk along Venice Beach, whatever it was. This was a powerful person who had a big effect on people.

You’re also involved in other upcoming Davis projects.
I co-produced Tomorrow May Not Be Your Day, a new two-LP collection of 17 previously unreleased songs from 1970-’71. I’m also co-curating “Jesse Ed Davis: Natural Anthem,” an exhibit at the Bob Dylan Center in Tulsa.

This article originally appeared in VG’s December 2024 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

In his new autobiography, Only You Know & I Know, guitarist/vocalist/songwriter Dave Mason looks back on his incredible life, including becoming a founding member of Traffic, sitting in as a special guest on classic-rock favorites like the Jimi Hendrix Experience’s “All Along the Watchtower,” and enjoying a long solo career highlighted by the albums Alone Together and Let it Flow, along with the hit single “We Just Disagree.”

Why did you decide to write the book at this time?
Well, I’m 78, for one thing. But why did I write it? I got badgered into writing it, basically. Fans, over the years, have constantly said, “You’ve got to write a book!” and of course my wife got on my ass about it (laughs). It’s been four years putting it together. Thanks to [co-author] Chris Epting, I had some great help, especially with research and the rest of it. I’ve got a memory like a sieve, and I did not keep a diary.

Mostly what I’ve tried to do is make it about my personal journey more than just music.

In the book you say you’re a private person. Did that make it hard to write?
Well, other than doing interviews, I don’t spend much time thinking about who I’ve played with or what I’ve done. But once we finished writing the book, it was like, “Wow! Did I do all that?”

Would you say the process was cathartic in any way?
It wasn’t cathartic. It was just a process. We thought we were finished at one point, but there were a number of things where I would go, “Oh s**t, you know what? I forgot that.” So we’d go back and do it again.

Traffic was an unusual band. It was groundbreaking, versatile, popular, and critically acclaimed. But it doesn’t get enough credit.
Well, it wasn’t a very long career. It’s just too bad that things finished the way they did. Obviously, [Steve] Winwood had major problems with me being in that band, and I write about it. What’s unfortunate is that, especially after the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction [in 2004], we didn’t all reunite and go out and tour and bring the music back.

You had a topsy-turvy relationship with Winwood and Jim Capaldi.
I would more couch it as they had a weird relationship with me (chuckles). It was very odd, which was probably rooted in nothing more simple and stupid than jealousy and egos.

You also mention that you wanted to avoid stardom, and you connect that with quitting Traffic. You write about how you just wanted to make music, but didn’t you realize that becoming famous was a possibility?
I wanted success, but I just wasn’t ready for what came with it. I was very young and was brought up as basically an only child, with zero street smarts. It was all too much for me.

Did you ever become comfortable with stardom?
I’m still not comfortable. I’m not a front guy (laughs). I have to be in a band. Anything that smacks of being an extrovert just makes me nervous. I’m essentially a guitar player. That’s what I love. Singing and songwriting just came along with the job.

You’ve played different electrics but seem to favor Stratocasters.
I have a couple of Strats with Lace Sensors and a humbucking pickup on the bridge. One is Mexican, the other is a Hank Marvin model Fender made for me; I removed the Volume knobs. I also have three Telecasters including one of the first made when Fender was bought back from CBS and they used Leo Fender’s original plans. They gave one of those to me and one to Steve Cropper.

Which others do you play?
I have a Les Paul goldtop, but it’s not an original, and a Cherry Red Les Paul. I love their tone, but they’re too heavy for me to play onstage. My acoustics include a Taylor six-string and a really beautiful 12-string hand-made for me by Alvarez.

Do you have any vintage pieces?
I don’t. Guitars have always been a tool for me. I wish I still had the Strat I got when I was 16. I was 13 or 14 when I discovered the Strat, played by Hank Marvin. The fact that a radio repairman designed that thing is amazing. That design will still look great a thousand years from now.

This article originally appeared in VG’s November 2024 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

“Going out on top” is a common sentiment among artists and athletes hoping to end their careers at their best – not fade away. In rock and roll, one blueprint is The Police and their 1983 masterpiece, Synchronicity.

The fifth album from vocalist/bassist Sting, guitarist Andy Summers, and drummer Stewart Copeland was a cultural phenomenon, reaching #1 on the Billboard album chart for 17 weeks and selling more than eight million copies in the U.S. The first single “Every Breath You Take” also zoomed to the top of the charts for eight weeks. Other hits were “King of Pain,” “Synchronicity II,” and “Wrapped Around Your Finger,” all coinciding with a massive tour of sold-out arenas and stadiums… then, the band split.

For years, The Police had experienced high-profile creative tensions, but they rose to a boil while recording Synchronicity. From the start, Summers knew it would be their last album.

“I definitely did feel that,” he said. “The intimations were that this would be the last one for Sting. There was a slightly strange feeling about doing the record – a shadow hanging over us. But we were signed up for five albums, the whole world was watching and expecting a great record. It was a strange mix of feelings.”

The band typically recorded together, but Synchronicity saw them separated at the behest of engineer/co-producer Hugh Padgham. Summers typically played in the studio, Sting in the control room with his bass direct to the desk, and Copeland in the facility’s high-ceiling dining room – linked via video with no sound.

“We got what they call ‘perfect separation’ – very much an engineer’s thing. But I found it kind of weird; I would much have preferred to be playing in a room together with a bit of leakage. (Engineers) want [separation], but it cannot make up for natural musical excitement or cohesion in the playing.

“And, separation can be very detrimental, as I found out, particularly on what Hugh did to ‘Every Breath You Take.’ I had to correct what he had done to the guitar. In Montserrat (where we recorded), I had this incredible, thick, gorgeous sound. When I heard it, I was just so upset that he’d lost it. I worked hard with him to get it back. He’s very guilty of that, I’m afraid.”

Summers’ unique guitar sound is integral to the band’s style. On Synchronicity, he played several including his trademark ’63 Telecaster (modified before it was his), a ’62 Strat, and a ’58 ES-335.

“The overriding credo was, ‘You can’t sound like anybody else.’ That was very important to me – and it was a natural thing because I wasn’t a gigantic fan who listened to only rock guitar,” explained Summers, whose resumé includes wide-ranging creative projects. “I came out of a jazz background and I’ve been to university in the U.S. I listened to all this music; I played classical guitar. I was fully fledged as a guitarist.

“I wanted to make the guitar parts different behind the vocal. I was never going to play a barre chord. I had a philosophy; I wanted to create The Police guitar sound – make it different than the standard ‘banging it out.’ I think the playing is all fairly elegant, actually. I was very conscious of having a signature sound, and I think it contributed hugely to the success of The Police.”

While Summers is suitably proud of Synchronicity, it’s not his preferred band effort.

“I think most of the tracks hold up really well, but my favorite album is the second one, Reggatta de Blanc, which was where we were still very fresh. We hadn’t really made it and we were very keen to make a great record. We had enough recognition to go in and make a record and prove it. It was a chance to move up a step, and I really like the fresher, youthful energy in it.

“By the time we got to Synchronicity, we were ultra-famous – real rock stars. The record got more sophisticated in a way that I didn’t necessarily enjoy as much as the rawer sounds on Reggatta de Blanc.”

The Police were inducted to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2003, and fans were pleasantly surprised by their reunion tour in ’07-’08.

Today, Synchronicity still shines. In 2019, “Every Breath You Take” surpassed The Righteous Brothers’ 1964 classic “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’” as the most-played song in radio history. The album has been named to the Grammy Hall of Fame. The U.S. Library of Congress added it to the National Recording Registry for being “culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant” and worthy of preservation.

“What sold The Police was the chemistry in the playing. It was unique, never to be replicated by anybody. We definitely made our own style of music,” said Summers. “We had a real signature sound and style, and we became conscious of our thing and we would try to make every piece sound like it was played by the three of us.”

Reflecting now, Summers sees Synchronicty (which was recently reissued with B-sides, demos, instrumentals, alternate takes, and a live performance from September, 1983) and the band’s dissolution as a glass half full.

“We left at the peak of glory, if you like, which is a very ballsy thing to do. We didn’t start declining and make records that got worse and worse. We left them wanting more, which is the oldest cliché in the book.”

This article originally appeared in VG’s October 2024 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.